


Against Our Nature

by marblepages



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mentions of Past Torture, Protective!Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 05:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18804322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marblepages/pseuds/marblepages
Summary: After saving Loki on a blood soaked battlefield, you accompany him on a journey through the Nine Realms as he attempts to return to Asgard. Along the way, you learn you must work together to not only survive various perils, but also save the Realms from a terrible threat.





	Against Our Nature

## Alfheim

You wonder if you slipped inside your mind again. Only when you felt the burn of electricity did your senses come alive. Everything is much too bright, the scents far too strong. Soft tendrils of grass, like wisps of hair, run along your torso, your legs. You can’t remember any other grass like it. The blades are thin and fine, a green so brilliant it almost glows. Then you remember how you got to this place. You lift yourself to your elbows and glance over your shoulder. The portal that aided in your escape is gone.

Nausea squirms deep in your stomach, a lingering effect of the teleportation. Nevertheless, you are grateful to have escaped your concrete cell. The memory of the metal chair and electricity gives you shivers. They were going to turn you into a machine, a monster. You exhale, squeeze your eyes shit, and will those horrors away. You’re safe now, you tell yourself, they cannot hurt you anymore.

With the dizziness now passed, you stumble to your feet. You gasp when you take in the world around you. Corpses litter the field you stand on. Swords protrude from the earth like uneven rows of tombstones. It stuns you to stillness and the instinctual overdrive they planted in your springs into focus. You tell yourself to breathe, stay calm, and focus. You fight against the violent, survivalistic urge within you, channeling everything to pick at the skin around your cuticles. You focus on that little pain in your fingers to keep you grounded. You take cautious steps forward, regretting that you didn’t grab a few weapons from the facility before escaping. All you have is a knife in a harness around your thigh along with the power they seared into your DNA. But you don’t want to use that, not if you can help it.

The grass squelches under your feet. Blood, you realize. Large black birds scatter as you walk then land elsewhere on the ground. They laugh and feast on the bodies. You come across a man, clad in an intricately designed silver armor. Briefly, you recall Crossbone’s armor: his skull mask, the heavy plates around his chest. He cannot find you here, you tell yourself. Wherever here is.

Whatever battle took place has long ended, a realization that eases the tension in your shoulders. Still disturbed, but no longer feeling immediate danger, you relax. A large castle stands in the distance as if watching the aftermath of the battle. Mold taints the stones, its windows bleak and dark. At first, you think the portal might have been a time machine, but then you see the sky. It’s a gorgeous blend of pink and orange, much like the sunsets you remember before you were taken. For a moment, you are calmed by the beauty and nostalgia of it, until you see the two suns hovering in the sky. Realization hits you that wherever you are, it is not on Earth.

Panic comes in full force as you rush to the closest dead body to examine its armor further. Something tells you to remove the helmet. Every instinct conflicts within you as you place your bare hands against the bloody metal and tug. Squeezing your eyes shut, you yank the helmet off of his head. The smell of death assaults you immediately and you gag. Once you stop, you turn to look and fall back on your heels. The man is not human. His ears curve up into a sharp point and his skin shines with an ethereal glow.

Halfway down the field, you hear an agonizing scream of pain. The sound of it tears into the sky. It comes again, agony mingled with frustration. Someone dies slow. You scan the field and eventually find the source of the screams. Unlike the other bodies, he is not dressed in silver armor. Instead, he wears black leather and an emerald green cape splayed under his body. He looks human, to your relief. That relief wears thin when you see his hands covering his abdomen. Blood spurts between the cracks in his fingers, staining his marble skin red. He writhes in pain. The hardened part of you--the part they put in--calls to the dagger harnessed to your leg to put him out of his misery.

But the part of your soul that remains, tells you that you can save him.

“Hush,” you tell him softly, smoothing back the black hair away from his forehead.

His green eyes snap open.

“Away from me,” he hisses, delirious. He tries to wriggle away, but that causes him to scream again.

“Let me help you,” you say. “I can heal you.”

“No. Leave me to die. Let my brother finally understand the consequences of his actions.”

You shake your head. “Please. I can save you! I can’t in good conscious leave you to die.”

The man doesn’t respond. His eyes flutter shut. You’re about to lose him, you realize. You shove his hands out of the way and examine the wound. It is deep--deeper than anything you witnessed in your training. His stomach is punctured, a fatal wound. You don’t recognize the blade that made this injury, the edges of his skin cauterized as if the weapon was made of fire.

“The hell happened to you?” You mutter under your breath.

His breathing slows, head nodding off towards the side. You are running out of time. Your mind goes blank, preparing yourself for the pain you are about to feel. You place your hand over his wound, feeling the blood squish against your skin. It’s cold. Squeezing your eyes shut, you channel all of your concentration and energy until a burning white light consumes you both. You scream and feel your life essence drain from your hand into his body as though you were a conduit. Around you, the grass dies.

Beneath your hand, you feel his wound heal, the puncture vanish, and his blood replenish. It takes more of you than you thought it would. Your head becomes light and your heartbeat slows. Any more of this and you will die. You tear your hand away from him and the light snuffs out. An invisible force knocks you backwards onto the ground beside him.

You see him open his eyes and are lost in the shade of emerald.

“See. I saved you,” You whisper to him.

You witness his eyes widen and stare at you as though you are the unreal being in this place. Then, against your wishes, your vision fades to black.

 

-o-

 

You awake in a large chamber on a bed with silk sheets. A pile of pillows cushions your head. Across the room, the man sits in an armchair with his leg propped over his knee. He watches you with interest.

“Good,” He says. “You’re awake.

You shield your eyes from the harsh light bleeding through the large, arched window. Down below lies the blood stained field.

“Did you carry me all the way up here?” You ask.

The man scoffs. “Of course not. I teleported us here.”

You nod. That would explain the acute nausea.

“What is your name?” He asks.

You unfurl the covers and move to sit on the edge of the bed. You still feel weak.

“(Y/N),” You reply.

“So, (Y/N), you possess magic?”

“Magic? You mean--no it’s not magic.”

The man wrinkles his nose in disappointment.

“Pity. Here I thought you were a special kind of Midgardian.”

“A what?”

He sneers in reply, “A human.”

“You look pretty human to me,” You say.

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard. God of Mischief.” He pauses to look at you quizzically. “Do you really not know who I am?”

You might have mistaken his question for arrogance were it not for the look of genuine confusion on his features. You shake your head. Loki clenches his jaw in frustration and looks away.

“I must return to my home,” he says suddenly. “The Realms are under attack, and if I know my brother, he will want to face them head on. I must save him from his own stupidity.”

You nod and stand, checking to see if the dagger is in your harness. You are surprised to find it still there.

“I have to get back to Earth,” you say. “I need to find my father.”

Loki turns to you and you see a methodical calculation cross his features.

“Perhaps we can come to an arrangement,” he says. “If you were to use your powers to assist in the war against the Obsidians, I would help you find your way home.”

You eye him warily, but what other options do you have?

“Alright,” you tell him.

-o-

Loki holds your wrists and drags you through the palace. You struggle to keep up with the length of his strides. Signs of a fight make themselves known in the overturned furniture and broken glass. A thick chill hangs over the stones and a curious black mold over takes much of the palace walls.

“What exactly are these Obsidians you mentioned?” you ask. The more you think on it, the less involved in this fight you want to be.

“They are creatures from another Realm,” Loki tells you. “That is all that is known.”

The two of you arrive at a gargantuan doorway. Two solid wooden doors etched with intricate carvings blocks your path. Loki releases you from his grip to throw the doors open. A library stands before you, floor to ceiling shelves of books. Vines grow out of the walls, entwined with the spines of thousands of novels. Murals of elves and gardens covers the entire ceiling.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, breathless.

Loki scoffs. “This is nothing.” He deposits you in a chair. “Make yourself comfortable. We may be here a while.”

“What are you looking for?” You ask.

“The Bifrost is broken,” He says, as though he expects you to know what that means. “Heimdall broke it to prevent the Obsidians from crossing into Asgard. While that means we cannot use it ourselves, there are many Paths there were created to allow those to cross between Realms. There is one only visible to those who cross it and requires a spell to activate.”

He walks with purpose to a shelf and waves his hand. Several books from the top gently flutter down to him. The books levitate around him, cycling every so often under his nose. He wears an intense look of concentration. You resign yourself to your spot, leaning back against the cushions. You studying the gargantuan sculpture before you. It looks like three spinning circles intertwined, frozen mid motionHours pass, and your find yourself growing bored. The books tantalize you, their colorful and embellished covers calling you to pick them as though they were ripe fruit. Without really looking, you pluck one from the shelf beside you and flip open to a page.

Disappointment comes like a slap in the face when you find the text written in a different language. You didn’t know what to expect. With a sigh, you nevertheless admire the elegant symbols. They are much softer than the harsh lines of the English language. You flip through the book and then put it back. This becomes a cycle you repeat for several minutes until it catches Loki’s attention.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Looking at books,” you reply.

“Why? You can’t possibly read them.”

The book you hold contains pages of diagrams. In defiance, you hold open the book so he can see the hatch crossed drawings.

“I can look at the pictures,” You say, dryly.

Loki rolls his eyes. “Well, I applaud you for your open mind.”

Determined for him not to have the last word, you ask, “What are you reading then?”

“Spell books. I was told the spell to open the Path was in this library.”  

He sounds frustrated. Not wanting to irk him further and unable to offer any useful help of your own, you remain silent. You keep your current book, happy you finally found one with some kind of image to look at, and sink back to your seat.

The pages are more yellow than the other books you held, it’s binding frayed around the spine. It looks as though it is one touch away from becoming dust. You carefully skim through it. You find the book is full of sketches, most of them of some elaborate form of inventions. Labels and paragraphs are written in the same alien scrawl that you can’t translate.

Suddenly, you turn to a page and see a sketch of the same statue that now sits behind you. Except in the sketch, it shows all the circles coming apart. You stare at the writing, wishing you could decipher what it says. Your gut screams at you that this is important, but you feel stuck.

Clutching the book in your hands, you pace around the statue. You search for a mechanism, anything that could potentially pull the statue apart.

“Loki,” you call, “I think I found something!”

“Really?” He says in disbelief.

He comes over to you anyway and takes the book from your hands. Any snide comments he’s prepared to say die on his lips.

“You really did find something, (Y/N),”

Just like you, Loki paces around the statue. Except this time, he climbs on top of the chair and begins to scale up the sculpture.

“What are you doing?” You shout up at him.

“This is the key,” he grunts as he pulls himself up the curved edge.

Unable to hold the book and the statue at the same time, he drops the book down below. It smacks the tile with a clash, causing you to yelp. Your heart hammers. He’s higher up than you thought. If you were in his place, and you fell, the impact would kill you instantly. You have no idea how a god’s body differs from a human—if there’s a difference at all. If he falls…

“Please be careful!” You call.

You begin to pick at your fingers.

“Scared for me?”

You can practically hear his grin. Yes, you are, but you don’t want to admit that.

“No! If you fall, I’m still too weak to save you!”

Loki laughs, the sound of it echoes off the walls. He hoists himself over the edge and stands atop the peak of the statue. One false step, you think with fear, and he’ll slide right off.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he says, not sharing your panic at all, “up here this place is beautiful.”

“That is until you fall off and die!”

“This fall won’t kill me,” Loki assures. He points down to the spot where he dropped the book. “Be a dear and get that for me.”

You march over to the book, lying face down, it’s pages bent from the impact.

“You know I can’t read it!”

“You don’t have to.”

You feel his breath against your ear and jump. He stands right next to you, wearing a devious grin. You glance at him and then to the top of the statue where he still stands.

“How did you…”

“Never you mind.”

He plucks the book from your fingers and then disappears back to the top of the statue. It gives you whiplash. Loki begins skimming through the book. He flips a few pages and then stabs his finger down on the text. You hear him, high up above recite in an ancient language. Although you have no clue what he says, it sounds beautiful the way it rolls off his tongue.

Then he stops, arms outstretched. One hand cradles the book. At first you are met with silence, and you begin to feel the low stir of despair. Then you hear a metallic grumble. The room begins to quake. You drop to the floor, covering your head with your hands. Books tumble to the ground like hail. You half expect the ceiling to cave in on you, but it doesn’t.

Loki, you think, where is he?

Braving the falling books, you rise up and watch in awe as the metal circles slowly unwind. They levitate in the air, orbiting around each other. You find Loki in the center of them all, floating within a pale blue light. At that moment, you have no doubt that he truly is a god.

The circles groan as they continue their plodding cycle. Gradually, Loki lowers to the ground, in time for all of the rings to line up perfectly in place. The bright light shoots through all of them then in a burst. In its place, it leaves behind several hundred translucent circles, like cobblestones. The Path, you realize. He did it.

Your eyes divert up to Loki. He looks tired but overall pleased with himself.

“Come along.” He says. “Let’s follow it.”

 

-o-

You and Loki follow the Path out of the palace and across the field. The woods you enter look just like the ones you remember from Earth. However, unlike Earth, the trees seem to emit a melodic sound as the wind brushes through the leaves. You are stricken by the beauty of it. If it wasn’t for Loki every once and awhile nudging you along, you’d stand there forever listening. You feel less exposed than you did when you first arrived in the field. But the more you walk, the more you miss the comfort of the bed in the palace. Your feet ache. The makeshift pack you wear on your back, carrying food you snagged from the palace, wears you down.

“Can we make camp soon?” You ask.

Your teeth clatter between your words, arms wrapped around your chest..

 

“No,” Loki tells you. “You must learn to keep up.”

 

Your vision turns red at the flippancy in his tone.

 

“Fine,” you say. “Either you take a turn carrying all this crap or I'll just take a break right here.”

 

You plop down onto the ground, not bothered by the rocks and twigs.

 

“Nonsense,” Loki says, stomping over to where you sit. “We cannot linger.”

 

He grabs your arms and begins to hoist you up. You try to use all your weight to pull yourself back down, but you can’t. Despite his lanky appearance, Loki is stronger than he looks. He’s about to speak, something caustic you’re sure, but a harsh wind blows through the woods and Loki freezes.

 

“Loki—“

 

“Shut up,” he says.

 

“Make me, _your highness_ ,” you spit back.

 

Loki spins on his heel towards you. Whatever insult he's prepared to hurl at you dies on his lips. Suddenly, the bell like chimes whispered through the leaves turns into a blood curdling screech. Loki’s hand clasps over your mouth.

 

He whispers into your ear, “It’s one of them.”

 

There is no telling how far away it is, it's cry swallowed up through the trees. Loki’s muscles tense. You feel your breath mingle on the skin of his palm. His skin is colder than you imagined it would be. To your surprise, he pushes you to the ground, back against the dirt and leaves. He layers his body on top of you. Removing his hand from your mouth, he places both palms beside your head.

 

“What are you—“

 

He hushes you, closing his eyes in concentration. At that moment a shimmer encompasses you both like a blanket. You turn your head to look at his fingers. They are almost transparent, letting the pebbles and twigs appear through. He’s camouflaging you both, you realize. You become aware of how close his body is to yours. Your lips nearly touch. The weight of his body on top of you makes your heart race. You hope he cannot feel it through his armor.

  
Then the creature emerges from the trees like a wraith, followed by another. At least three more appear. They have no features beneath their chainmail cowl. Instead, there’s a black maw where their faces should be. Despite this, you can recognize what they’re doing.

 

They’re searching.

 

You’re positive that they can hear you both breathing. It is too risky to stay where you are.

 

Loki shares your thoughts because he whispers in your ear, “If I tell you to run, do it.”  


Your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head in a silent “no”.

 

He presses his forehead against yours and grits his teeth in aggravation.

 

“Just do as I say,” he says.

  
The creatures come closer, communicating to each other in their breathy language. Suddenly, one of them lets out an ear splitting scream, making you both shudder. You shiver beneath him, the first sign you've shown that you are terrified. You both must move soon. But they have stopped, forming a circle like a ring of dark statues.

 

“I’m going to lead them off,” he whispers to you. “My illusion is stronger if it covers just one person. Whatever happens, don’t move.”

 

“Don’t be an idiot. They almost killed you before.”

 

Loki grins, “But now they won’t know which is the real me.”

 

He leaves your confused face to rise to his feet. A green shimmer cascades down his body. It leaves behind his green cape, fresh black armor, and golden helmet.

 

Daggers in hand, he casts apparitions of himself. The creatures turn their heads with a slow, methodical movement. At once, all the Loki’s take off in various directions, one for each of the creatures. Suddenly, you are in the woods alone. Helplessness begins to smother you, but you refuse to be worthless. You scramble to your feet, deciding there is no way in hell you’ll let Loki fight this alone.

 

If he dies, you’ll truly be alone on this alien planet.

 

-o-

 

As he sprints, Loki thinks proudly to himself how good his illusions look. It was a mistake, he realizes, to have fought them on the battlefield. It was against his nature. But now, with them pursuing him, Loki knows cunning must be their downfall. And thankfully, he thinks, that’s in his nature to be. He comes to the edge of the woods. The horizon of the sea jars him like a slap in the face. He searches the area, finding himself caged in by a cliff side. It doesn’t matter. He still has one last trick up his sleeve.

 

As before, the Obsidian catches up to him as though appearing through smoke. Loki’s back is to it when it plunges it’s blade through his spinal cord. Loki gasps, blood bubbling from his mouth. He stumbles forward before collapsing to his knees. The Obsidian hovers over him, watching him die. Then Loki’s body fades away in a puff of smoke. Using both of his hands, Loki lifts the sword and drives it straight through the Obsidian’s chest.

 

His victory is short lived as three more Obsidians emerge from the trees. One lets out an ear splitting scream and raises a bow and arrow. Loki stands against the backdrop of the orange sky, trying to plan what to do next, how he could defeat all of these monster. But his mind becomes a muddied mess. He thinks of his mother, and briefly his brother. Then suddenly, he hears a voice shouting in the distance.

 

“GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU BASTARD!”

 

The Obsidians turn their head, now firing their arrows at you. Loki watches as you dodge each one. You move with more agility and grace than he expected. It’s almost like a dance, and in that moment he finds you beautiful. Once you get close enough, you grab onto the Obsidian’s armor. Your bravery astounds him. In the past few days he’s witnessed fiercer soldiers show less courage than you. Then you scream. You scream as though you are dying, and the sound of it chills Loki to the core. He wants to move forward, attempt to help in any way he can, but a white light erupts from beneath your fingers.

 

He has no idea whether it is you or the Obsidian emitting it, but as the light grows, so do your screams. The Obsidians begin to crumble into themselves like a paper being folded. Loki glances away, disturbed by the motions of the bodies. You, on the other hand, remain unharmed.

 

And just like that, it’s over. You stand before the dead monsters, panting. Loki jogs forward, he wants to say your name, ask you so many questions, but all he can do is stare at your trembling hands.

 

“I hate you,” you tell him. “I hate you so much.”

 

“Then why save me?”

 

“Because...you’re my way out of this fucking place.”

 

Loki smirks.

 

“Liar,” he says.

  


-o-

You both make camp at the edge of the woods. You are unsure if it is due to the earlier incident, but the sight of the trees no longer offers you peace. Instead, you eat your sparse meal with an uneasy stomach. You watch the spaces between the trees, waiting for something to appear—attack. It irritates you that Loki seems so at ease. He lounges back against the grass, plucking some kind of fruit off of its stem.

 

“So,” Loki drawls out, “why don’t you tell me how you came by your powers.”

 

The way he looks at you makes you blush and look down at the ground. However, the butterflies and feelings of warmth disappear when you think back on all those months in the HYDRA facility.

 

“It’s a bit complicated…” you say.

 

Loki grins, “Darling, I live for complicated.”

 

You clear your throat, “I was kidnapped as a child and put through a series of tests. I failed all of them, and so I became a science experiment. When I didn’t die, well, that’s how I got here.”

 

You know that is not the explanation he wants, but you don’t want to speak further. You are surprised when he doesn’t goad you for more information, or at least make a scathing comment. Instead Loki studies you, a strange combination of rage and pity you can’t decipher. As soon as you see it, it’s gone, replaced with his usual cool nonchalance.

 

“What were some of the tests?” He asks you.

 

“I really don’t want to talk about it,”

 

“(Y/N), What other way are we to pass the time?”

 

You nod and inhale deeply. Then, with fracturing boldness, you say, “There was a man who had gone back on a deal. I didn’t get the details. My handler tortured him, made me watch. Then he handed me the knife and told me to kill him.”

 

“And did you?”

 

You shake your head. You think about how you tried to drive your knife into Crossbones instead. It was a foolish move that nearly cost you your life when he beat you bloody. You shiver at the memory. Instinctively, your hand goes to your nose, and your fingers ghost along the bridge that was once broken.

 

Loki doesn’t react. He doesn’t look horrified or as though you repulse him.

 

“I had my mouth sewn shut,” he responds, coolly.

 

That’s all he says. No explanation or reason. You imagine thread and needle piercing through those beautiful lips.

 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

 

“Tell me another,” he says, leaning forward.

 

“I couldn’t forget my family so my handler beat me.”

 

“I had venom dripped on my skin.”

 

“I couldn’t go undercover because I couldn’t seduce my targets.”

 

Loki laughs, “I don’t see how that compares to the rest.”

 

“That was the final straw,” you say. “I couldn’t complete my mission and sleep with my target. That’s when they first put me in the cryo chamber.”

 

“I—I…”

 

“Speechless I see,” you say with a smirk.

 

“It doesn’t happen often,” Loki grumbles.

 

Under the blank sky, you share a certain peace with this man. You’ve only known him for two days, and yet you can feel a gradual shift in your relationship. You crave the intimacy of contact that you’ve been deprived of for years. What would his skin feel like? His lips pressed against yours or other parts of your body? How would he touch you? How would he like for you to touch him? But then he turns his back to you, an abrupt gesture that tells you the conversation is over. It leaves you feeling more isolated than ever and wishing you had never spoken in the first place.

 

-o-

Pretending to be asleep, Loki listens to you rustle around and try to get comfortable. Eventually, he relaxes when he hears your soft snores. Your confessions keep him awake. He’s not accustomed to being bothered by the plights of another--especially a human. It’s a peculiar feeling. It’s not specific to you, he tries to tell himself, torture itself makes him sick. Some of his punishments had been severe to be sure, a brutal torture in and of itself: trapped in a tree, mouth sewn shut, venom dripped on his face. But he is a god built to withstand those things. You are a human, soft flesh and withering bone. You are simply dust. Yet you survived with more resilience than he attributed to any human.

 

He wants to understand you and all this raw power you possess. It starts to drive him mad. Perhaps you are another grueling punishment the All-Father dreamed up for him.

  
His mind runs wild. He imagines fucking you. He’d spend the entire night kissing every inch of your skin. He’d find all the spots that would make you arch under his touch. He’d make sure that you were wet and ready for him. His hands move of their own accord. He’s ashamed to think how hard he’s gotten for you. He looks over his shoulder to make sure you are soundly asleep. Satisfied that your back is facing away from him, he lies on his back, closes his eyes, and undoes his pants. He grips his cock and strokes himself, coming to thoughts of your hands on him.

-o-

The next morning, Loki awakes with a deep sense of shame. What had come over him last night to imagine you in such a way? A mortal no less. If anyone found out about this...the thought makes Loki cringe. Thor would most undoubtedly approve, given his intense love for Midgard. But then Loki imagines Volstagg and Fandral’s smug faces. _Our Ice Prince has a heart after all_ , he can hear them tease. Loki shudders. Whatever happens, Thor and the Warriors Three must never find out he made this journey with a human. He would never hear the end of it.

Loki scrubs his hand down his face. All he has to do is avoid any further feelings of interest towards you.

When you stir, he immediately sits up and watches you roll over onto your side. He’s unsure what’s appropriate in this situation, unaccustomed to sharing sleeping space with other. Should he look at you? Should he offer you privacy in these vulnerable moments of rising? Should he speak? Ultimately he decides it is best to not get too friendly and turns away.

“Good morning,” you say.

Your grogginess makes you more polite than he would have thought at this early hour. As you become more alert, your cheeks flush and a small smile curls over your lips. For a brief, heart-stopping moment Loki wonders if you heard him in the night. He thinks back. Had he been too loud? He thought he muffled any moans, and he knows he swallowed all cries of your name.

However, he can’t recall his dreams. When he awoke, they remained nothing but blurred images. In his heart, he knows that he thought of your hands and delicate body. He will die before he admits it.

“Sleep well?” you ask.

Loki blushes. Are you teasing him? He’s almost positive you are.

“Why does it matter to you?” He snaps.

Your smile dies instantly, expression flattening. He’s offended you, he knows this, but he can’t bring himself to apologize.

“I slept well too, thanks for asking.” You say. “This grass is much more comfortable than concrete.”

There’s a story in there. Loki’s positive you want him to inquire about it, but he ignores the comment. He too has slept on a stone floor within a cell. Any potential moments of bonding are best to be avoided, he decides.

You rise to your feet, inhale deeply, and look out onto the horizon.

“It really is beautiful,” you say.

Loki turns his gaze to the rising suns where the rays cast golden light across the pink sky. To you, a human who has only seen the bland Midgardian atmosphere, Alfheim must seem amazing. But the taint of the Obsidians already makes itself more apparent. The horizon seems rotted somehow, less bright than what Loki remembers. Everything surrounding him feels drained. For the first time, he feels a little saddened about the potential loss of this idyllic place. All that will be left of it are the paintings of garden parties in Asgard’s castle.

When you speak, it tears him away from his thoughts.

“So. Tell me more about this magical trail we’re supposed to find.”

Straight to the matter at hand then. Loki wishes he could answer your question, but the best he can do is supply you with stories he heard as a boy. Odin would frequently tell him and Thor stories of the ancient times at the supper table. One of which were the days before the Bifrost— of the Ancient Pathways.

Loki sighs. “It was believed that only those who possessed magic could open it, and it would only be visible to those who walk upon it.”

“Sounds like fun,” you say as you pop the joints in your back, your neck.

“It will be a perilous journey,” Loki tells you snidely. “We will be crossing through all of the Realms, each with their own dangers beside the Obsidians.”

“Don’t worry,” you smile. It’s just as empty as the ones he normally gives. “I’ll protect you.

“I don’t need protection,” Loki snarls.

You stick your hand out to him, a silent offer to help lift him up. He stares at it hesitantly.

“Come on,” you say, “I won’t hurt you.”

Against his better judgement, he clasps it and pulls himself up to his feet. Your skin feels warm against his palm. He worries that the coldness in his fingers might make you flinch, but you don’t. Instead, you grip onto him tighter. His heart flutters.

This is going to be a long journey.

 

-o-

Today, you walk beside him in silence. Used to your mild bickering, he almost misses your nagging commentary about his directional skills. So he tries to fill the dead silence with conversation, stories about when Odin first brought him to Alfheim. It doesn’t matter to him if it is a one sided conversation. Maybe you’ll like to hear about the crystal waterfalls or the exquisite garden parties with the overflowing bowls of fruit. He begins with a description of the palace gardens. If Asgard could be defined by it golden palace, than Alfheim its gardens.

Almost as if you are half paying attention, you jerk your finger towards something in the distance.

“Wow! What’s that?!” You exclaim.

Loki wants to make a comment about how rude it is to interrupt, but it catches his attention too.

On top of a hill rests a dilapidated temple. Lush greenery climbs it’s way up the walls, looking as though the earth was trying to travel into the sky.

“That looks kind of ancient,” you say.

Loki nods in agreement. It _does_ in fact look ancient—and just the sort of place where a magical pathway might be.

“Let’s go then,” Loki says.

Sure enough, vibrant blue cobblestones appear beneath his feet, snaking its way up the hill. The ground is steeper than he expected, causing you to trip a couple of times. On the second step, you fall forward. He doesn’t mean to react, but instinct wins over. Loki sticks his arm out, acting like a solid barricade to keep you from hitting the ground.

The force of his arm against your chest stuns you. You blush, fingers snaking around his arm as though subconsciously keeping him there.

“Thanks,” you tell him.

Two more hours pass before you both arrive at the base of the temple. This close, the building looms over you both.

“Come along,” Loki says to you. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

Even as he tell you this, a presence weighs down on him. It feels like a magnet, tugging him down to the earth. A piece of his dream flashes before his eyes as clear and vivid as the illusions he casts.

 

_You and Loki enter the temple._

_There is a pointed archway sealed by stone._

_You join your hand with his, fingers locked together._

 

Loki shakes his head and the vision dissipates. All of your initial fear vanished too as you trail inside behind him.

“Gosh,” you say breathlessly when you enter the temple. “This is—this is beautiful!”

Despite being covered in vines and grass, the mosaic tiles can still be seen underfoot. The elaborate, colorful patterns swirl beneath the dust and stone. Even the hole in the ceiling looks purposeful, allowing fresh beams of light to shine in.

As you slow down to admire the mosaics of Elves on the walls, Loki walks with purpose.

“Keep up,” Loki tells you, voice echoing off the stone. “We need to find the next doorway!”

“I’ll look down here!”

Loki grits his teeth. He doesn’t exactly feel comfortable with being separated, especially not with Obsidians possibly lurking about. But he can’t argue with the logic of splitting up to search. The sooner you both find the door, the better. As soon as you begin to leave his side, it feels as though something is scratching away at his flesh. Minutes later, your voice comes bombarding down the corridors. The excitement is contagious and causes him to spring up.

“I think I found it!” You shout.

“Where the hell are you?” He calls out, cursing the zigzagging corridors.

“Over here!”

Remarkably unhelpful. Loki groans and does his best to follow the sound of your voice. When he finally finds you, he does his best to mask his panting and slow down his pace.

“You _really_ need to learn directional skills,” he tells you.

He likes the way you smirk at his comment, recognizing the jest in his tone. Loki wishes you would reply with a quip of your own, but you ignore him, preoccupied with the giant archway standing before you. The pointed crest touches the ceiling.

“This is it,” Loki whispers.

He nudges you aside and places his palm against the cool stone. A mist of blue magic clouds his hand.

 

 _A magical being would channel their power into the pathway_ Odin had told him _and they would use that magic as a key to open the door._

 

Loki pushes his magic against the stone with a grunt. He can feel the spell go through, the other side hollow. He smiles, pleased with his efforts. But nothing happens.  So he tries again and is met with the same result.

“What’s going on?” You ask, anxious.

“It’s not fucking working! That’s what’s going on.”

“Well what’s supposed to happen?”

Loki groans. “I’m supposed to cast a spell, presumably the same one from the library, which then acts as a key to open the Path.”

“Maybe you need to do a specific spell,” you suggest.

“No, I just need to prove that I have magical abilities.”

You step forward and say, “Let me try then.”  

Loki sputters. “What? Really?”

Like him, you press your hand against the stone. A white light buzzes beneath your palm. In a moment of hope, Loki thinks you might actually be the key. Except the room soon goes dark and quiet, and the stone remains the same.

“Shit!” Loki exclaims.

“And you’re sure this is it?” You ask. “I mean, I could have been wrong and made us both look like jackasses.”

Loki shakes his head. This is the Pathway, he knows, he can feel it. Beneath him, the blue stones begin to fade away.

“This is it,” Loki says. “But without a way to open it, we’re stuck.”

 

-o-

 

Loki paces the floor. He’s tried every spell combination he knows to the point where he feels drained of energy. His fingers burn.

He leans back and shouts up into the ceiling. “Heimdal!”

His voice echoes, the reverberations making it sound angry and violent. Birds nesting on the exposed beams scatter.

“Heimdall show yourself this instant!”

“Loki, please stop,” you plead.

“HEIMDALL, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

But Heimdall does not come. Loki begins to wonder if this means that Asgard has already been invaded, or worse that Heimdall is dead. He walks faster now, the circles he treads becoming smaller and smaller. In contrast, you sit on a pile of stones tossing pebbles against the wall.

“He’s ignoring me. He has to be,” Loki mutters to himself. “He’s doing this on purpose! To—to punish me. To make sure I don’t get home this time.”

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You think this Heimdall would do something like that to you?”

Loki shakes his head and chuckles, “No. But that is something _I_ would do.”

With a final sigh, he plops himself down on the ground beside you.

“Hey,” you tell him, your voice soft and comforting. You reach a gentle hand out towards his shoulder, but he jerks away. He does not want your pity.

That doesn’t deter you, however, as you continue speaking, “We’ll find another way out of here. There must be someway we can save your home.”

“Don’t you get it?” Loki growls. “We’re stuck here! For all I know Asgard has already been destroyed.”

At that, you lower your eyes. You keep your hands in your lap, fumbling with your fingers. It’s then that he notices that you are picking at the skin around the edges of your cuticles. He hasn’t noticed how raw and bloody they really are.

“Stop that,” he tells you.

You immediately do, clenching your hands into tight fists.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

“For picking at your fingers? Yes, it’s a dreadful habit.”

“No. I’m sorry for being so selfish. All I could think about what getting back to Earth, I never thought about you or how worried you must be.”

Your words take him by surprise. The only other people who have expressed concern for his well-being have been his brother and mother. But you are a complete stranger who has only been in his company for a few days. You don’t even truthfully know who he is or what he is capable of. But to not be judged or treated with apprehension feels like the crushing weight of stones on his chest has finally been pushed off of him.

Tentatively, Loki says, “And I have not considered your feelings in this. It must be a terrifying experience to find yourself suddenly on another planet.”

You shrug. “I’ve seen worse. And at least I’m not alone.”

With a small smile, you place your hand on top of his. It’s a simple gesture, nothing more than to let him know that you are there. It means nothing, he tells himself. However he can’t ignore the blossoming in his chest caused by the sensation of your fingers. He has a curious desire to kiss you then, his own awkward way of telling you thank you. Thank you for saving me, thank you for not judging me, thank you for not leaving.

“(Y/N),” he whispers.

Any further words he plans to say gets interrupted by a loud, airy chime. It sounds like a hundred bells ringing at once. Loki turns his head towards the pointed archway. All of the stones have melted away, leaving behind a bright blue light. A shimmering, white glow swims within. It seems alive, calling the both of you in.

“It’s a portal,” you say.

“So it would seem.”

“Is this the Path then?”

Loki nods. “I think so…”

A whisper escapes the portal, swirling around his head. It speaks a language he cannot understand, but he knows its command all the same.

“We must step inside,” Loki says.

You flinch, eyeing the portal with nervousness. He offers his hand out to you.

“Trust me,” he tells you.

Such heavy, weighted words. He’s never asked anybody to trust him before. A pressure swells in his heart. What can he do to earn and keep your trust when his very essence is composed of lies?

It surprises him when you take his hand. You grip it tightly as if saying: I trust you to protect me from this, from what might happen.

“I’m here, (Y/N),” Loki tells you, and gently leads you through.


End file.
